


Empathy and the Denial of Apathy

by Twiranux



Series: Internal, External [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Medical Examination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiranux/pseuds/Twiranux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dilemma split Ryan into two, and yet isn’t bothering him as much as he thought it would. He cares so genuinely, it didn’t matter that his true self was revealed. In fact, he was a little envious of how Michael could consistently stay apathetic, blunt, and crazy. The way Michael can manage to push everyone and everything away without second thought, Ryan admired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empathy and the Denial of Apathy

The night consumed the city, the exception being the dim, flickering streetlights and the last few stragglers within the confinement of their houses and apartments, chasing after the relief of sleep. Ryan Haywood is one of those stragglers.

The artificial lights were off; the only light in the room being the small wisps of candlelight. He adjusts his small, circular glasses, readjusting his vision to read his book. He lay lax on his couch, the infamous jacket serving as his pillow, occasionally conversing with his potted plants concerning the novel.

“Could you believe this?” He murmurs, his voice hushed. He then frees up his left hand to grab his glass of diet coke, and then takes a few sips. Ryan sets the glass down on a small coaster, on top his wooden coffee table.

All was quiet within Ryan’s abode until a familiar rampage began to knock on his door.

“Let me in! Ry! Ry, please!” a wailing voice yelled at his front door.

Ryan grunts, then gets up from his couch, leaving his book behind. He fixes up his plain grey shirt, and places his glasses on his kitchen countertop.

“Password,” Ryan states, his hand already on the doorknob.

“P-password? Fuck, Ry, why do you have to do this to me? F-A-H-C. Simple!”

Ryan opens the door to see a bloodied Michael, with torn up clothes.

“Do you have to be so loud?” Ryan asks, shuffling towards the kitchen. “You could blow your cover.”

“Cause I’m scared as shit! I was getting away from these motherfuckers, and your place was closest from me, so I wanted to hide out here for the night,” Michael closes the door, then takes off his shoes.

“You practically came in uninvited, but you’re lucky I’m hospitable. Do you want anything to drink?” Ryan opens his fridge, perusing. He kept a stock of the crew’s favorite alcohol in case of emergency. This unfortunately included ex-member Ray’s bottles of Goya Malta, which took up a good chunk of space.

“Just give me a beer or something--Can I sit on your couch?” Michael heads toward the kitchen sink.

“No no, on the small cushion.” Ryan points to what he is referring to. “The couch is my spot.”

“Why are you up this late?” He washes his hands, using generous amounts of soap to lather up. Michael’s hands shake tremendously throughout the process.

“The job has the side effect of insomnia.” Ryan slides over the beer across the countertop toward Michael.

“Can I take a shower here? And clean my clothes? Stay the night--”

“Do you mind being quiet? It’s very late. And, as a criminal, you should handle panic much better than this,” Ryan interrupts, furrowing his brow.

“I can only calm down by being loud and obnoxious. Can’t help it.” Michael breaks open the beer with Ryan’s bottle opener. He chugs the whole thing down in under a few seconds.

Ryan shakes his head, then walks toward his bathroom.

“Come on, let’s see how bad your injuries are.”

Throughout the years, Ryan stopped questioning how his fellow crewmembers got into the most peculiar situations. His laundry room was ready for any sort of cleaning, and his bathroom prepared with advanced, but not hospital advanced, medical aid. He stowed away the books concerning first aid in the bathroom alongside his supplies.

Michael takes a look at himself on Ryan’s mirror.

“Holy shit I’m fucked up,” he commentates, checking the sides of his face, as Ryan prepares his medical supplies.

“I know I don’t ask for much at all, but right now if you want me to examine the damages…” Ryan trails off.

“What?”

“You gotta take off your clothes, so I can assess everything.” Ryan looks Michael in the eyes.

Michael opens his mouth, but no noise manages to come out. Ryan looks away, realizing that he is only making the situation more awkward.

“Not even a ‘please’? Just...you looking at me weirdly?” Michael takes of his brown jacket, and hangs it on the doorknob.

Ryan puts on latex gloves, and sanitizes the suture needle. Michael finishes taking off his slashed up shirt and torn pants.

“I kept my boxers and socks on, those are off-limit areas.”

Ryan starts to investigate Michael’s upper half, focusing on Michael’s neck and shoulders.

“Here, have this damp cloth, clean up some of that blood on you.” He hands over the item, and then starts tracking a deep slash that starts on Michael’s lower neck. “Oh, this looks pretty bad…”

“I’ve been feeling a little sting there, Ryan. I’m guessing a cut or a bruise?”

“It’s a full fledged gash, Michael. From right here down to your lower back, barely missing your spine.”

Michael tenses up as Ryan’s hand hovers down the length of his wound.

“Now I feel THAT! OW!” Ryan places a very hot cloth that manages to cover half of the cut, and attempts to apply pressure onto it.

“I’m just trying to help. I’m actually impressed at this, it’s pretty stable for such a laceration.” Ryan keeps applying pressure, with Michael wincing at the pain every now and again.

“I’m gonna prepare the suture needle. You want anything before I begin closing it up?”

“Uh, can I down a whole case of beer?” Michael’s voice shivers, half-joking, but also half-serious. It’s not the first time he’s gotten stitches, but it’s about to be the biggest set he’s ever received.

“To be honest, for you, that wouldn't be enough to cover for the pain--” Ryan pretends to ponder for a bit, before continuing. “Just kidding! Relax. Just don’t move too much, and you should be able to tolerate it.”

“Ha ha, very funny Ryan…” Michael braces himself on Ryan’s sink, gritting his teeth.

Ryan starts working his craft. Known infamously as an assassin and one of Los Santos’ most wanted, it was not surprising that Ryan was best with anatomy and medicine. He could heal as much as he could hurt, and constantly improving his sense of pin-point accuracy. Ryan’s steady hands and Michael’s tough skin collaborate to lessen the pain.

“Augh,” Michael groans. “I haven’t stretched my back out like this in a long while. No wonder I feel like an old hag.”

“You should start doing that, especially now to help this whole thing heal.” Ryan finishes up the last few stitches. “Now, I know it sucks, but you keep an eye on your back for a few weeks, and it’ll be healed.”

“Okay, whatever. Can you get out so I can shower now?” Michael stretches out his arms, testing out his temporary limits. His back continued to ache, but he could feel the wound closed shut.

“You can get fresh towels right there by the rack, okay? All I ask is that you keep my bathroom relatively neat afterwards. And after you shower, I’ll apply the bandages.”

Ryan stows away the medical supplies, and then takes off his gloves and throws it away in his trash bin.

He picks up Michael’s dirty clothes. “I’ll clean these for you.”

He closes the bathroom door behind him, and sighs. He slowly makes his way back to his couch, finally returning to his own little world after the unexpected intrusion.

Michael was not the type to be formal or courteous, as if he never even wore a facade in his entire life. He could only wish of his facade being unbreakable. Ryan had to act tough while caring for the injured crew member, and it throws him off; but it’s not like he could be apathetic to a potentially dying co-worker, and not one right in his home.

Ryan throws Michael’s clothes into the washing machine, and manages what needs to be managed.

The dilemma split Ryan into two, and yet isn’t bothering him as much as he thought it would. He cares so genuinely, it didn’t matter that his true self was revealed. In fact, he was a little envious of how Michael could consistently stay apathetic, blunt, and crazy. The way Michael can manage to push everyone and everything away without second thought, Ryan admired.

Ryan pushes his glasses up until it was against the bridge of his nose. He turns toward his plants, then opens his books and returns to his reading. It didn’t take long until Ryan was up to speed, reading whole chapters in a matter of minutes. His eyes speed across the pages, captured with the novel.

Then, he halts. He looks at the time.

A half hour has passed, and Michael, assumingly, was still in the shower.

Ryan pushes himself off the couch, leaving his book on the couch, and then knocks on the bathroom door.

“Michael? You okay in there?” Ryan slowly turns the doorknob, and realizes that it is unlocked.

“Yes, I’m here! It’s not like I’ve learned how to magically disappear!”

“Everything alright? You’ve been in there for quite a while…” Ryan trails off.

“I’ll be out in a bit, geez!”

Ryan hears water moving, followed by what seems to be Michael’s feet stomping on his bathroom rug.

“I have some extra clothes you can borrow--” Michael snatches the clothes from Ryan’s hands.

“You’re so nice when you’re not out murdering people. Hell, not even to the crew. What’s up with you?” Michael interrupts, the door opening wide. Thankfully he had a towel covering his lower half, and already mostly dry, ready for the bandages.

For a moment, Ryan couldn't manage to speak. His cover was blown, and now Michael was gonna spread rumors amongst the crew. He thought of creating a whole new facade, and lock his emotions out even more than before.

“I can’t care for you and still appear apathetic. It’s one or the other.”

“At first I thought you were just being nice because I was being an asshole, and trying to out-bullshit my bullshit. But then you started handling every little thing and you generosity felt so toxic and unfamiliar.”

“I happen to have a private self that is so outlandish when compared to my professional self,” Ryan defends.

“I just don’t get it. Even you have a different side to you. I’m just all asshole, all the time.”

Michael angrily paces to Ryan’s walk-in closet, and starts changing into the given set of clothes. Ryan stays near the bedroom door, awkwardly standing there.

“Maybe Geoff is rubbing off on you a little too much, or you’re taking things too seriously--” Ryan tries to reason.

“I’ve been like this my entire life, I don’t deserve your kindness. Your hospitality is more than anything I ever got without any form of bribery or whining.”

Michael leaves the closet, and stops right in front of Ryan. He huffs out a hot breath, and Ryan backs into the bedroom door.

“I don’t get it. I can't get myself to say anything nice or act decently--”

“Michael...I just think you need some rest.” Ryan places his hands on Michael’s shoulders. “You seem to be in a bit of a daze. You can have the bed for the night, I’ll sleep on my couch.”

Michael looks down, avoiding eye contact, as tears start to fall. He attempts to hide his whimpers, but fail. He turns around, and starts heading toward the bed, his hair covering a good portion of his face.

“I came here so that I didn’t have to deal with myself, alone. I drove, I don’t know how far I drove, how fast I was going, or how long it took to get here. I knew that you didn’t like visitors, but I was too selfish anyways. I knew no one would bother to take me in for the night but you.” Michael admits. “You’re some other kind of crazy to take me in and be nice like this despite my attitude.”

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” Ryan states, as he starts shuffling toward his couch. He keeps the bedroom door slightly ajar, and hears Michael get into the bed.

“One could assume I’m Crazy Mad into you.”


End file.
